There were further protests, but in the end, Sherman and Klein backed down as gracefully as possible. They would obey Grayson's orders, and they would fly the screening mission as the Phobosapproached her destination.
When the meeting broke up, Grayson remained seated while the others filed from the room, his hands pressed over his eyes. He was tired, so tired...
When he opened his eyes, it was to see Use Martinez still standing there. "Well, Major"she said. "You realize those two have a third option, don't you?"
He blinked at her. Her smile and tone of voice were unsettling; her use of the honorary rank of Major was a step removed from calculated insult. Aboard the DropShip, she was Captain, theCaptain, and naval tradition and protocol dating back to wet navies on old Earth would not tolerate two people called 'Captain' aboard any vessel. In such situations, officers such as Grayson were given an honorary, and temporary, promotion of one grade. He knew Martinez was using the word "Major" like a weapon, as some kind of test, but he had neither time nor patience for these, interpersonal games.
"What do you mean by that?" Grayson said curtly.
"Hell, they could sign on with the opposition. They'll have to if they can't make it back to the ship. Where else can they go?"
"They wouldn't do that," Grayson said, but without conviction. Though he had tried to accurately read the characters of the two fighter pilots, who really knew what another person might do? "Sue Ellen's too bitter about her brother...and he died fighting Kurita ships."
The DropShip captain touched her tongue to her lips. Like Tor, she was a native of House Marik's Free Worlds League, and she wore a cosmetic design popular among many in Marik space: blue wings tatooed onto the skin over her eyes. Grayson found the effect sinister.
"Those two are sleeping together, you realize," she said.
The pilot's abrupt change of subject irritated Grayson. "So?"
"God, you areyoung, aren't you? So,that's going to be a problem. Two fighter jocks, the only two, and they're more concerned about each other than about your unit or your plan. I don't call that a good situation...Major."
"You take care of getting us through the Combine blockade," Grayson said, his headache even worse now. How long had it been since he'd had a decent off-watch sleep? "I'll worry about my people."
My people. How was he to make Martinez a part of the Legion? Or Sherman or Klein? Simply worrying about the unit was becoming a full-time occupation of late. First Lori's fears, and now this.
Moving tail-first and balanced on a flaring stream of light, the Phobosneared Verthandi and the planet's lone, giant moon. Long-range radar had already detected the garnering of the Kurita forces as they approached. In a mere ten hours, the Gray Death would have its first encounter with the enemy. And Grayson already knew that his unit was fatally flawed.
* * * *
A sleek, black JumpShip materialized in the darkness at Norn's nadir jump point, 1.28 AU from the star. Once certain that no other ships lingered nearby, the starship unfurled its sails and began to soak up hypercharge for its next jump. At the same time, onboard computers swung a highly directional dish antenna until it pointed at the amber fleck of light that was Verthandi. A burst of microwave energy lasting less than one ten-thousandth of a second pulsed into space.
Its mission complete, the courier vessel began preparations to return to Lyran space. The Galatean spy's report would reach Verthandi in less than eleven minutes.
* * * *
Fleet Admiral Isoru Kodo looked up in irritation at the staff Captain who had handed him the report. "Why are you bothering me with this routine garbage?"
Captain Powell stood at rigid attention, her eyes fixed steadily above and beyond Kodo's egg-bald scalp at the harsh and rugged splendor of the airless plain revealed through the curved windows of his office. Verthandi, a gold-edged scimitar knifing through heaven, filled a quarter of the sky, its night side blotting out the stars beyond. Mountains, silver white and raw, thrust themselves from the moon's plain toward the planet's beauty. The moon, Verthandi-Alpha, was a rugged, low-G wilderness, a stark contrast to the life-rich glory of its planet.
Powell brought her inner trembling under control and steadied her voice with words crisp and concise. If the Admiral was not the most forgiving of commanders, neither was he the most exacting. Duty at the Kurita naval base on Verthandi's lone satellite was boring, but still preferable to the constant strife on Verthandi under the iron hand and sharp temper of the Governor General.
"Lord Admiral," she said, "the incoming ship appears to be a UnionClass vessel, but there are discrepancies." Kodo gave her no encouragement beyond a black scowl, but she plunged on. "The IFF transmission from the starship was in a code and frequency that has been out of date for over two standard years. Further, no starships have been scheduled to call at the Norn system until four standard weeks from now."
"So?"
"Lord, the intruder could be a raider with out-of-date codes."
"Am I surrounded by completeidiots?" He spoke the words softly, almost wonderingly, with a slow shaking of the head from side to side. "Don't you think I knowwhich codes are current and which are not?" He slapped the computer printout with the backs of his fingers. "Is it possible that no oneon my staff can use his own initiative, can even think for himself? That starship is an independent freighter hired by the Combine Admiralty to deliver cargo. I notified the Governor General's office hours ago, and they concur with my evaluation."
Captain Powell's eyes widened slightly at this, but she held any further reaction in check. The schedules of incoming ships were carefully set and monitored by the Combine Port Authorities at each world in the net of trade among Kurita's suns. It was most irregular for supply ships to arrive so far ahead of schedule. By their very nature, privately registered freighters were much more likely to arrive late than early. The Procurement Departmentof the Combine Admiralty was not known for its efficiency, either
Keeping her voice calm and professionally level she made herself continue. "My Lord, we ran a a careful analysis of the DropShip's drive flare, course, and delta-V. The StarShip's transmission indicated the DropShip to be a UnionClass, but there are discrepancies. A UnionClass masses 3500 tons, and—"
"Don't you think I know the mass of a UnionDropShip, Captain?" Kodo's voice was silky now, and dangerous.
"Of course, my Lord. The...intruder masses 3200 tons. While this couldbe explained in terms of a light cargo load or low expendables, the discrepancies seemed important enough to warrant bringing them to your attention."
"You have done so. Your analysis of the DropShip's mass discrepancy is masterful, a brilliant piece of routine deduction! The freighter has arrived on a purely routine resupply mission...a bit early, yes, but purely routine! Routine!" His head shook again in the shocked silence, sour disapproval etching the corners of his mouth and eyes. "Your file states that you have initiative. Captain. I can't say that my entry in your service record is going to support that contention. I suggest that, in future, you use that vaunted initiative and let me get on with my work!"
The bald head swivelled back to Study the terminal screen at his desk. Recognizing the end of the interview. Captain Powell saluted, closed fist to breast. "Thank you, Lord Admiral."
Outside the Admiral's office suite, she put a hand against the corridor wall and let out a long sigh of relief. Lords of Space, but Old Baldy was in a bad mood today!
"Captain?"
"Eh?" A young Lieutenant from the Commo Department saluted as she looked up. "What is it?"